Luyện nghe bài hát Light Pollution

John A. Hobson was a man
He to loan me books and mic stands
He even got me a
To the Socialist

Listening to records in his
Old songs about the government
It's of money not the market
He said fuckers push on you

And yells, it don't cry
Whatever sells decide
But there's no hell you die
So don't so worried

He got a night life, his day job
Pushing papers, pendulums
Anything to serve a
Or to occupy some

You earn this living somehow
You're good as dead without a account
But it's how alive he has felt down
In that unemployment

all that trash at his feet
The pools of in the street
All of filthy empathy
For the way we're

worry
Don't
worry

The shade
The flags they
The playing loud
The game was letting out

And all at
You saw the dust and
Every tiny
Got in his and turned around

out through the crowd and the cops
Drove out past center mall
out past that sickening sprawl
Out that fenced in gold

And he lost control
Fucking the radio
But I bet the stars so close
At the end

At the end
At the end
At the end
...